Between the Stars
by a-little-lost
Summary: hiatus
1. Chapter 1

**Between the Stars **

**Summery: ** Deciding to leave the wizarding world and its mechanizations, Harry begins to read and write fantasy stories to fill the void. One story that he reads begins to haunt his mind. He becomes obsessed with it and it becomes obsessed with him.

**World:** Harry Potter/Labyrinth crossover

**Pairing: **Harry/Jareth

**Warnings:** slash, m-preg

**A/N:** I've thought about this one several times over the last several years and have yet to start writing it. It seemed a fairly logical crossover considering some of the mixes out there. This story is totally compliant with all seven books, excluding the epilogue. It should be stated that I know relatively little about London and thus I am guessing about certain things. It should also be stated that I have not read the Manga sequel to Labyrinth and thus it plays no part. From what I have heard about it, I don't much expect that to ever change.

**Chapter One**

He lived near Hyde Park on an old estate that was far too large for him. It was mere chance that he acquired the property. It was a case of being in the right place at the right time, because the elderly owner abruptly decided that he wanted to move away from the city.

It the main house was disgustingly extravagant, but he rarely ventured there. Instead, he converted the guest cottage to serve his purposes and rented out the big house as a vacation spot for the wealthy. He didn't need the money by any means, but it seemed a bit depressing to see the house empty. The agent he had managing the house, Mrs. Mary Marshal, was a shrewd businesswoman. He paid her handsomely and he was rarely bothered.

Mary was one of the few people that he had any kind of regular contact with. She asked him once why he bothered if he didn't need the money, and why he lived in the city if he wanted to be left alone. His half sarcastic reply had been so that he didn't have to mow his own lawn.

The truth was that he didn't like silence. With the constant hustle and bustle of the house and city there was always some kind of noise in the background of his life. He could enjoy the relative peace of the park, the grounds, and his little house, but still feel the life of the city around him.

After so many years of war and death, the silence was inevitably haunted with nightmares.

More often than not his only company was the glowing screen of his computer or the crisp pages of whatever books he had recently procured.

Some years before, not long after moving to London, he discovered a deep longing in his heart. It was a void that he would not allow himself to fill the conventional way, so he started to do it indirectly through books. He read more books in those first few years then he read in all his time at school. At first the type of book didn't matter; fantasy, mystery, horror, science fiction, historical, romance, they all became grist for his mental mill. It was the fantasy novels that he both loved and hated the most. They pulled at that desperate longing in his heart until it felt fresh and new. At the same time they best filled the void.

When the books were no longer enough, he tried his hand at writing his own stories. His first attempts were juvenile at best. Slowly though, so slowly, they began to evolve. He didn't show them to anyone, but he soon realized that he had a knack for story telling.

Time and again he found ideas spinning in his head. He wrote out fantastic adventures of a life he wished he could have lived. They were the wonderful life and trials of a happy family who faced impossible odds and made it through whole. If only his own life had been so well thought out. He may have come through his own childhood unscarred by the mental anguish that plagued him.

When his ideas grew few, or he found his grip on reality slipping he would venture into the streets of London. He rarely did more than watch the people, but it was enough. He made a point to browse the bookshops, walk through the markets, and feed the ducks in the park. It was the gentle touch of normality that kept him anchored.

His favorite by and by spot was a little café. He had stumbled in one day to get out of the rain and save his new books from ruin. The shop was always warm and comforting. The rich smell of tea and coffee permeated the air. He quickly became a regular customer. The servers knew him and all he had to do was sit down. He always had a cup of the daily special and a croissant. His cup was kept fresh and he always left a large tip.

On days when his house was too cold, too empty, he would go and sit in the little café. He spent hours reading or writing in the corner booth. Sometimes he would simply sit and watch the people in the café or out on the street. He never knew any of them, but his mind supplied a story for each face and he would turn to writing again.

One not so very special day he was sitting at the café scribbling away. In his newest adventure his characters were visiting Egypt. Every bit of magic he had ever heard Bill talk about from his time there was woven together into a mystery to be solved.

Harry paid no mind to the people going in and out of the little shop. He always nodded for a refill of his coffee when the waitress came by, but otherwise he was lost in his story.

He ran his fingers delicately over the hieroglyphs. He couldn't read them, but he knew that the large symbol in the center was the Eye of Ra. He tried to remember the Sphinx's words. "Ra will pass. The end is the beginning again. Ra will pass. I am the end but not the beginning. Ra will pass." Oh, how Jaime hated riddles, but the Sphinx's riddle was the only clue.

"I'd have Hugh come running around the corner chased by a swarm of scarabs," said a warm, American accented voice from behind him.

Harry looked up. The woman who had spoken was reading his story from over his shoulder. He wasn't sure what to think of her. Here was a perfect stranger who was critiquing his story; a story that he was writing for himself.

"I beg your pardon?"

The woman looked up from the tattered notebook. "Well, it seems like the kind of trouble a seven year old would find in a cursed pyramid," she stated as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

Harry's eyes widened slightly. She reminded him a bit of Luna. It was odd. Just how long had she been reading over his shoulder?

"I do wish that Iris would simply explain the riddle to Jamie though. She seems like the type of person who would have figured it out by now."

Harry closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "I'm sorry, but…" He cut himself off. Though he was temped to give her a curt dismissal, he reined in his temper. "Can I help you with something, or are you just being nosey?" Okay, so he couldn't rein it in completely.

She seemed startled for a moment. "Oh, I'm sorry. I couldn't help myself. Perhaps I was being a bit nosey." She had a light flush on her cheeks. "I was just curious because you have been sitting there for quite some time. I glanced at it when I walked by and got absorbed in the story."

Her reaction caused Harry to feel a bit contrite for snapping at her. "No, that's alright. Please have a seat. You owe me that much for reading it."

"Alright." She seemed a bit reluctant, but sat down regardless.

Harry took a moment to observe her while she sat. She was a rather attractive woman with dark hair and hazel-green eyes. Her long, dark brown hair was swept back into a braid. She looked to be in her early to mid thirties. "My name is Harry Potter." He held out his hand for her to shake.

She took his hand and smiled kindly at him. "Sarah Williams."

"So, Ms Williams, what brings you to my shoulder? Nothing better to do?"

Sarah chuckled. "Please call me Sarah. I'm in town to see my mother. She is playing in a show here. As for reading over your shoulder, well I'm simply a fan of fiction. What about you?" She asked propping her arms on the table and resting her chin. "That is a rather good story, why write here? Are you published?" She spoke at a high pace and he had to wonder how she managed to breath like that.

"I would love to say that it was for the atmosphere, but the truth is that I just needed to get out of the house. And no, I'm not published. It is a very generous observation though," he stated a bit drolly, answering her rapid course of questions.

Sarah raised an eyebrow. His modesty seemed a little on the extreme side. True, the story was a little rough, but it was worth more than a second glance. "Oh? It wasn't meant as flattery. I just wanted to know who I had to steal you from." She dug into her wallet and handed him a business card.

"Doubloon Publishing? You mean all those fantasy and adventure novels?" Harry glanced several times between the card in his hand and Sarah.

"That's me."

Harry sat back and rested his limp hands on the table. It seemed to push the bounds of incredulity that in a small, out of the way café in London he would meet the head of a reputable publishing company because she was reading over his shoulder. "This is like something out of a book." He snorted at his own bad joke.

Sarah smiled, but she had to admit that he was right. It was exactly the kind of serendipitous fate that a writer would favor. "So, is there more? That notebook isn't very thick."

Harry wasn't about to tell her that the notebook was magical and thus never ran out of pages. So instead he settled for something less unbelievable and shifted her attention away from the pad. "Of this story? Not really. I have some others at the house though."

Sarah's eyes lit up. "You have more? Finished? Are they this good? Can I see them?" She was speaking rapidly again, and he had some trouble keeping up.

He blinked at her for a moment while he tried to sort out her questions in his head. "Um, yes, yes, I don't know, and your eyes look fine so I suppose you could. I think that those are the correct responses in order."

Sarah rolled her eyes after a moment. Leave it to a writer to correct an editor's grammar. "May I see them?"

Harry chuckled low in his throat. "Yes you may," he answered, his tone perfectly serious. It was only made more humorous by his obviously amused face.

"I think I'm gonna like you."

XXX

It was only a few minutes walk to his house and Harry couldn't remember when he'd had so much fun. Sarah's bright and playful nature reminding him of better days, before he had lost so many of the people he cared about.

She grilled him about his books and little else. It caused a weight to lift from his chest and made him realize that not only did he not have to tell her his life story, but that he couldn't. She was a muggle.

When they approached the park she started on a tangent about how nice it was and how lucky he was to live so close to it. He let her ramble on, not that he could have gotten a word in edgewise. Then she said something that caught his ear. "Toby would love it here. It is almost like you can feel the magic in the air."

She took a deep breath and was silent. "Toby?" he asked.

She looked over at him as they passed by the duck pond. "Oh, I'm sorry. Toby is my little brother. You're what, twenty, twenty-one? He is just a little younger than you. He'll be twenty soon."

Harry looked away from her. Did he really look that young? He knew that he was on the small side, but if anything he thought that he looked a bit older than his age. "Actually, I'm twenty-six," he said bluntly.

Sarah stopped in her tracks. "Really? Wow."

She started walking again and neither said anything for an awkward moment. Harry finally decided to break the silence when he saw the big house looming in the distance. "I'm just up here."

Sarah was grateful that he let her rather rude presumption slide and looked up at the house as they approach the gate. "You live here? It's huge."

Harry snorted. 'Huge' was not the usually descriptor that most people thought of when they first saw the house. "I own it, but no I don't live here. I rent the big house. I live around back in the cottage. It's this way."

He led her around the fence to the back gate and showed her up the short walk. Just before they reached the cottage the landscaping broke for a view of the rear of the big house. He heard her whistle and had to grin. Very few people had been to his little house, but the few who had tended to have similar reactions. That was one of the reasons that he never blocked off the view from the start of the path that led from the cottage to the big house. He found their reactions funny.

By the time she had stopped gawking, he had the door open and was waiting for her to catch up. "Why on earth do you live back here?"

He smiled brightly at her. "I can't imagine myself rattling around in that place alone."

Sarah thought about it for a moment and decided she thought that she could understand. Really, she wouldn't want to be alone in a place that big either. Entering the cottage, she understood even better. It was small, but not cramped. It was well furnished and comfortable, she might even say cozy. She followed Harry through the small mudroom and then the kitchen. He took a moment to offer her a drink, which she declined, and then showed her to the little office.

Here she could feel the man's presence in every facet of the room. Where the rest of the house was kempt and free of clutter this room was teaming with signs of constant occupation. There were various books lying about, dozens of notebooks, a basket full of crumbled pages, and even more loose pages scattered about. Various fantasy scenes flashed across the computer's screensaver. There were several large bookcases lining the walls of the room. The one closest to the computer desk appeared to be various types of reference materials ranging from travel books from around the world, to a full set of encyclopedia, and even books on numerous languages. The other bookcases were overflowing with every kind of fiction novel you could imagine. For all intents and purposes it appeared that Harry all but lived in this room.

"Sorry for the mess. No matter how hard I try to keep it neat, it always ends up a disaster by the end of the day."

"I've seen far worse. I work with writers for living, remember?"

Harry chuckled a bit and crossed to a small closet that she hadn't seen with all the other clutter. If the door had swung instead of slid, she wasn't sure how he would have managed to ever get it open. She looked inside past him and noticed that here were yet more bookcases. However, unlike the rest of the cases, these were stacked exclusively with folders, notebooks, and crudely bound volumes.

She wondered at him when instead of reaching for the shelves he pulled down a large box. He grunted when it's weight left the shelf over his head. It became apparent that the box was extremely heavy when he dropped it with a loud thud just outside the closet door. He pulled the door closed behind him and pushed out his desk chair for her to sit. He flopped down on the floor next to the box and pulled the lid off.

Her breath caught. Inside the box were numerous bound manuscripts. She tried not to get her hopes up, but he started to hand them to her one after another. "Kinko's is a wonderful place. I found it is near impossible to bind several hundred pages together without some serious equipment. Staples, rubber bands, and twine just don't cut it," he said jokingly. She had four of the manuscripts on her lap when he decided to just push the box toward her. "I have two copies of each of them bound like this."

"How many are there?" She was absorbed in pulling them out one at a time, but looked up when she didn't answer her question right away.

He looked like he was thinking and counting on his fingers. "Um, about fifty, I think. I doubt that most of them are any good though. I had no training and so most of the early ones are rubbish. I had them bound anyway just for posterity's sake. They're also really short. I figured that I might come back to them later and work them out."

Sarah blinked. "How long have you been writing?"

"Well, I moved here about six years ago and started writing shortly there after."

She blinked again. He had been righting less than six years and he had already done so much. If the ones he called rubbish were even half as good as what she had read from over his shoulder then they were publishable as they were.

She picked up one of the shorter volumes and saw that it was only a year old. She glanced at her watch. She had to meet her mother for dinner soon. She bit her lip and seriously thought about calling to cancel. She wanted to dive into the potential treasure trove before her. She couldn't do that though. Sarah was going to be in London for two more weeks and her mother was busy, so her time was limited. She looked up at Harry and took a chance. "Can I take one with me and call you tomorrow?"

Harry shrugged. "Sure, I had a copyright done on them for kicks and giggles so it is not like I have to worry about you stealing them. If you had a car I would let you take the lot with you so you didn't have to worry about it."

She smiled broadly at him. "Pick one for me, a good one."

Harry shook his head. She didn't get it. As far as his was concerned they were worth about as much as kindling to anyone besides him, but he searched the box anyway. He pulled out one that he had finished some six months before. It was not his favorite, but it was one of them. It was a bit sadder than most though. He passed her the rather thick volume. "I think this one is about as good as it gets."

She took it with reverent hands and held it tight to her chest. "I'll call you tomorrow and we'll talk."

XXX

Harry stared at the blinking curser. It had never mattered to him if someone liked what her wrote or not, because he never showed it to anyone outside of the people who bound the pages together. His stories were for him and him alone. At least that is what he intended when he wrote them.

So why was it that he was so nervous about what a perfect stranger thought?

It wasn't that he was worried they would give anything about the wizarding world away, because he never wrote anything telling about himself or his life. There was always a possibility, no mater how slim, that they could fall into the wrong hands. For the same reason he never used the names or incantations of real spells, the names of people he knew, or actually paces in the wizarding world.

He turned and glared half-heartedly at the phone on his desk. It was wasn't the phones fault that he couldn't write, nor was it the phone's fault that the minutes kept ticking by and it had yet to ring.

Finally Harry gave it up as a bad job and closed the blank document on his computer. She had probably gotten a few pages in and started wondering why she had bothered in the first place, before promptly losing his number.

He should have known better then to get his hopes up, but for a moment he had let himself think that he might have a purpose other then killing dark lords. He crossed to one of the bookshelves and picked one at random. He settled into the large comfy recliner he kept on the far side of the room and started reading.

He let himself become absorbed in the story. This was his true release. Were as he wrote stores to bring magic back into his life, the ones he read had become about getting away from his life altogether. It took no effort on his part to delve into someone else's trials and tribulations. He was just an observer and no mater what he did the story would play out unchanged. There he had no control and needed no control. The world did not hinge on his ever action.

He lost track of the time and was well into the book when the phone rang. It took a second for him to come back to reality and he crossed quickly to the desk. The world outside had grown dark with the coming evening and he realized that he had never eating lunch.

He expected it to be someone from the house with a minor emergency that required his attention or Mary calling just to make sure he was still alive, as she did from time to time.

"Hello?"

"Harry, Sorry I didn't call sooner. I couldn't put it down. I had to finish it. I…"

He had truly decided that she wasn't going to call, but Sarah's voice sped on a mile a minute on the other end of the line. He was startled and off kilter. He was hardly registering her words.

"…so I need to meet you and talk about a contract."

"Huh?" was his rather unintelligent reply.

"Oh, good heavens. Never mind. I'm walking out of the hotel right now. I'll be then in fifteen minutes. Get dressed and we can talk about it over dinner. I'm starving."

XXX

The next several weeks had been a blur. After extending her stay in London Sarah had spoken with her mother and set Harry up several appointments to meet with potential agents. She had also waded through most of Harry's manuscripts, letting her love of fiction out weigh her duties as an editor.

After an agent was secured, and the contract had been sorted out she got to work actually editing the books. Harry still had digital copies of them, so that made her job much easier.

Twelve of the books only required minor work before they were ready for print. They would only be printing one every few months, so that took some of the pressure off of Harry. She told him that with a little bit of work that his earliest stories could be put together into volumes of short stories, but he declined. For the time being he wanted to go back through them and decided what he wanted to rework first.

The rest of the stories fell somewhere in the middle. They either required a good bit of revision or total reworking. She finally understood what he meant when he had said they were rubbish. It was not that the stories themselves were bad, rather that they were poorly constructed and had noticeable plot holes.

Being as his works were all independent of one another, and not a series, this proved not to be a problem. He could come back to them when he felt like it and work forward when he didn't.

Sarah was as happy as she could be. She was absolutely certain that he would be on the bestseller lists within a few months. She was so wrong.

Four days, twenty-seven hours, thirty-two minutes, and fifteen seconds after his first book hit shelves across the U.S., Canada, and Great Brittan, the New York Times listed Avarice and Angels by R. J. Black as number ten on their best seller list.

XXX

"What is with that pen name?" David asked.

Harry was staring out the window of Sarah's New York apartment. She had demanded that he stay with her instead of at a hotel. Her husband sat next to her. David Bruce was a tall lean man with short cropped, brown hair and gray eyes that always seemed to be laughing.

"Remus James Black. They were three very important people in my life. James was my father; he and my mother died when I was one. Black is the last name of my Godfather, who was falsely imprisoned before he had the chance to take custody of me. I didn't meet him until I was a teenager and I never got to spend very much time with him before he died when I was fifteen. Remus was my father and godfather's best friend, outside of each other. He was also my teacher for one year when I was in school. He died when I was seventeen."

He didn't turn from the window when he spoke, because he didn't want to see their reactions. He hadn't told Sarah or anyone else in the muggle world about his family or why he was alone.

There was a long moment of silence following his quiet, emotionless statement. "Harry?" Sarah's voice was soft and searching. It also came from very near behind him. He turned slowly toward her.

"Don't worry about it. It's been a long time on all counts. I've lost a lot of people in my life."

Sarah heard his words, but how could she not worry. In the six months she had known him, he had become like another little brother to her. She didn't ask him about his past anymore, because he never seemed to want to talk about it. This sudden revelation made her understand why. She took hold of his hand and pulled her to sit down next to her on the opposite side as David.

He didn't know why, but suddenly he just started talking. His mind seemed remember that he was talking to muggles though, even if he himself wasn't conscious of it. "There was this gang. My parents were law enforcement. They had butted heads with these people a few too many times and ended up as targets. They went into hiding. Sirius, my godfather, ended up being framed for leaking my parent's location and then killing some people. He was innocent and another of my parent's friends, Peter, was the real culprit. Peter faked his death and Sirius went to prison." Harry's eyes were dull with the telling and he simply continued to stare blankly out the window. Sarah put her arm around his shoulders and could feel him trembling. "I'm not sure what happened to Remus at that point, but I know that they wouldn't give him custody of me. I think I went underground and simply tried to pretend like the world didn't exist. I was sent to live with my aunt and uncle, who hated my parents and me by association. The attack on my parents dealt the gang a heavy blow and they laid off for a while.

"I didn't know anything about any of this until I went to school. I went to the same privet school that my parents when to. It was a rather exclusive school too, so most of the teachers there knew my parents and a lot of the students knew because their parents had been involved in the war with the gang.

"While I was at school the gang started causing trouble again, and it became apparent that I was still a major target. It got worse and worse until there was a full-scale war going on right under everyone's noses. I think that the British government tried to cover it up as natural disasters and unrelated murders. They didn't want people to freak out.

"Because I was a target for retribution, the people around me were targets as well. I lost so many friends and teachers. They were all trying to protect me. In the end I tried to give the guy what he wanted. I turned myself over and waited to die, but somehow I ended up killing him instead.

"No one said anything, but I knew that they blamed me. I bowed out gracefully and left them be. I pulled the money that my father and godfather left me and gave a large chunk of it to Remus' son. Teddy wasn't even a year old when his parents died protecting me, but for some reason they made me his godfather. Can you believe that?" This of course was a rhetorical question and he went on without waiting for an answer. He was still dazed, and Sarah wondered if he even really realized that they were still there or if he was speaking to the ghosts of his past. "His Grandmother is a good woman though and she loves him. She takes better care of him then I ever could.

"I bought the estate so I had a place to live and something to do. The rest of it I put into stocks, bonds, funds, and a charity for orphans. I… I don't use it anymore, now that I have the income from the house. I don't want it. It's blood money."

Harry's gaze dropped to his hands and Sarah could hear him mumbling about how everything was his fault. She looked over her shoulder at David and the man seemed dazed. She understood how he felt, but her maternal instincts kept her focused on Harry.

She didn't know what had started the sudden confession, but it made so much sense, answered so many questions. Why he had lived alone. Why he didn't date. Why he didn't talk about the past. Why he lived this life through the books he read and wrote.

She started to rock him back and forth gently. He was stiff in her embrace, but he didn't push her away. She hummed him one of the lullabies that she used to sing to Toby and slowly he went limp in her arms. Without prompting David came around her and picked Harry up. She followed them to the guestroom and made sure Harry was comfortable before retreating back to the living room.

"Dear god, Sarah." David wrapped his arms around his wife and felt tears soak through his shirt. "I wonder how he is still sane. He didn't weigh a thing, either."

Sarah had an odd thought and it caused an ironic giggle. "If he wasn't an adult, I'd say we adopt him."

David rubbed soothing circles on Sarah's back and waited. She was not the weepy sort, but even he had felt the need to cry after that story. He expected her to have a plan brewing in that head of hers and she would be ready to take action by morning at the latest.

Sure enough she pulled away a moment later. She wiped her eyes and set herself straight. "He needs someone to take care of him. He needs someone to love him."

David turned a wary eye on his wife. This wasn't what he had in mind. "I don't think he is much up to dating right now."

Sarah smacked David on the arm… hard. "No, you dunce. Give me a few days. First I need to call Toby."

David watched his wife walk toward their bedroom with puzzled eyes. He didn't know what she was planning, but he was sure that it was going to be an interesting show.

XXX

Toby Williams grumbled when his phone rang. He was only half way through his essay for his Dramatic Composition class and it was due the next day. He rolled his eyes at himself for his procrastination and picked up the phone.

"This had better be good."

"Toby, I need a favor."

He glanced at the clock. It was after one and Sarah had to work in the morning. "Alright… is there something wrong?"

He heard his sister sigh on the other end of the line. "Yes and no. I have a friend who is need of some assistance."

Toby shook his head, "What can I do?"

On the other end of the line Sarah was biting her lip. Toby didn't know that she knew about his contact with Jareth. Toby didn't know about her contact with Jareth either. As long as Jareth kept his promise to let Toby make his own decisions then she had never intended to bring it up, until now. The problem was that she had to wait for the Goblin King to come to her, while Toby could call on him without consequence. As the only wished away child to ever have been retrieved, he was the only human in the whole Aboveground with that privilege. If he wanted to he could even go to the Underground because he was a part of both worlds.

"I need you to contact a friend of yours for me."

XXX

Harry woke up with a streak of sunlight in his face. He groaned when he remembered his confession the night before. He hadn't meant to tell them anything other then the meaning of his pen name, but once he had started talking, he just couldn't shut up for some reason. He wasn't sure what to do now. Sarah and David could have dumped him on his ear last night, but they didn't.

He rolled over and sat up. When he reached for his glasses he noticed a red book sitting on the dresser. On top of it was a note.

_Harry,_

_I don't know why you told us what you did, but I'm glad that you did. I can't even begin to imagine what you have gone through. David and I want you to know that you are welcome to stay for as long as you like. We are ready to listen._

_This book is very special to me. It helped me a lot after my mom and dad split. It taught me not to take anything for granted. I want you to have it. When you read it, take the words to heart. There is more in those pages than a simple fairy tale._

_We should both be home from work around six._

_See you soon,_

_Sarah_

Harry felt considerably lighter. It was comforting to know that he didn't freak them out.

He picked up the small leather bound book and turned it over in his hands. There was no author name on it and the title simply proclaimed it to be Labyrinth.

He set it down and went about making his morning absolutions, dressing, and breaking his fast. He then settled down into one of the squishy chairs in the guestroom and began reading. In no time at all he became entranced by the words. If he hadn't known better he would have thought the book was magic.

XXX

Jareth watched the mortal reading his book. He hadn't thought much of it when Toby summoned him. However, when he had gone to see Sarah on the boy's request he had quickly become intrigued. He got the feeling that there was more to this mortal than met the eye.

He shifted the image to show green eyes as they danced over the words. He could feel a high level of magic from the young man, even for a wizard. This one was special. More special then even Sarah had been.

The story of this Harry's life was full of holes and mysteries. Jareth felt an itch in his mind telling him to unwrap them all one by one. At the same time something told him to be extremely cautious. Harry was powerful, and not one to me trifled with.

Jareth always loved a good challenge.

XXX

Harry set the book aside. It had been short, too short. He felt a strange need to pick it back up and start at the beginning again. Something told him that he would never get tired of reading the words. He forced himself to leave it be for the moment.

He glanced at the bedside clock and saw that it was growing close to noon. Deciding that he should eat he wondered into the kitchen. He puttered around the apartment for an hour or so before finding himself once again seated in the squishy armchair with the book in his hands. Not remembering exactly how he had ended up thus he set the book back down. He chewed his lip and made a decision. He pulled his wand from inside his pants leg and quickly cast all of the detection and revealing charms he knew. Nothing showed up. For all intents and purposes it was just a book.

He sighed and put it off to an over active imagination. He gave in and picked the book back up after stowing his wand. But even as he read the story seemed almost completely different from the first time he read it. There seemed to be more twists and turns, more hints, more… everything.

He felt himself being drawn in further and further. He found himself wishing for something. Almost unconscious of the words passing his lips, he stated in a solemn voice, "I wish the Goblin King would come and take me away… right now."

XXX

A high and joyous laughter rang throughout the Labyrinth. It was the first time that someone had wished themselves away and not another. There would be no runner, this one belonged to him, and there was no escape.

XXX

**A/N:** This is the single longest chapter I have ever written for anything. So don't get your hopes up about them staying this long. I'm one of those that write until it's done. When it is done then it is done, whether it be one page or, as in this case, fourteen.

Please tell me what you think. I'm not going to bother if no one like it.


	2. Chapter 2

**Between the Stars**

**Summery:** Deciding to leave the wizarding world and its mechanizations, Harry begins to read and write fantasy stories to fill the void. One story that he reads begins to haunt his mind. He becomes obsessed with it and it becomes obsessed with him.

**World:** Harry Potter/Labyrinth crossover

**Pairing:** Harry/Jareth

**Warnings:** slash, m-preg

**A/N:** You guys don't know how deliriously happy you have made me. I expected no more than a half a dozen or so reviews, at most. I have over thirty and they are still coming in. I would love to thank each and every one of you individually, but thanks to the rules I can't. So I'll have to settle for a collective thanks!

I will say this though in response to one. The review thought that Harry life confession was a little unrealistic because it was not the type of thing that the review could see themselves doing. I'm just the opposite. I am the type of person, I would hold it all in and end up spilling my guts all at once. That is why I had him do it that way. Once he started talking he just couldn't stop. He was embarrassed that he had done it later. It falls back to the penchant to speak and act before you think. I think that is a very 'Harry' and 'Gryiffindor' type of thing to do.

**Last time: **

_Harry felt himself being drawn in further and further. He found himself wishing for something. Almost unconscious of the words passing his lips, he stated in a solemn voice, "I wish the Goblin King would come and take me away… right now."_

_XXX_

_A high and joyous laughter rang throughout the Labyrinth. It was the first time that someone had wished themselves away and not another. There would be no runner, this one belonged to him, and there was no escape._

**Chapter Two**

Beauty seeks out beauty and power seeks out power. That is, and has always been, the way of things. So if one possesses both beauty and power in abundance, what does one seek?

For many centuries Jareth had sought the answer to that question. He thought he had found it when a young, mortal girl wished away her younger brother. She too possessed great beauty and power, but it was not to be. She did not understand what was behind the offer of her dreams, thus Jareth was left alone.

He was surprised that he was not bitter toward Sarah. She was simply not his soulmate, as he had believed. Because she had bested his labyrinth, he had a vested interest in both her younger brother and the girl herself. When their time in the mortal realm came to an end, they would have an honored place amongst the Fey in the Underground.

Jareth had already started to make plans. Mortal lives were short. With no heir of his own, he intended to name Toby as his successor.

Jareth's father was growing old. Even the Fey eventually found their path to the next world in time. As his father's only child, Jareth would ascend to the throne as High King. Someone had to take his place. The legend of the Goblin King was one that would never die. There would always be children wished away.

You see, time and magic, even life and death worked differently in the Underground. There was no such thing as a truly mundane, or muggle person. In the Underground, all was or became magic. The greater the connection to the Underground, the stronger the magic.

There had always been two worlds. One of the worlds was magic itself; the other held only the latent magic of life. When those from the Underground ventured Above, they took their magic with them. Thus were born wizards and all the other magical peoples in the Above. When the mundane people started to disbelieve in magic, and even fear it, the Fey and their brethren returned Underground.

The Aboveground was forever changed. The people there were the keepers of magic and legend. After that, those who found their way Underground, by chance or purpose, became saturated with its magic. Those who already possessed magic became a part of the Underground ever after. Even in those who left it behind, it never left them.

Sarah and Toby were two such people. Though they appeared to be mundane, someone in their ancestry had once known the Underground.

Thus, when Toby called out to him, as he often did, Jareth appeared at his side without hesitation. The boy's request was an odd one, to go and see his sister. Sarah, by her own will, had distanced herself from Jareth. At first he had visited the girl often, but he was rebuked. She did not comprehend what he was still trying to tell her; that she was a part of his world whether she liked it or not. When the day came for her to join the Underground, she would be in for a shock.

Jareth bowed to the request and joined Sarah. Her husband, a muggle man in all respects, knew of her history with the Underground to a degree. He was a believer in the old ways in spirit if not in practice. So when Jareth appeared before them, he showed proper respect, but no fear.

The story they told him rang bells in his head, but he could not place it. He let it pass as being so similar to the sad tales of so many wished away. The boy had been alone, unwanted, and used for most of his life. In the end, he had chosen solitude and blamed himself for crimes of others.

He agreed to watch over the young man. When he looked over the sleeping form he had sensed great magic within him. It was agreed that when the time came, he would make himself known to the wizard and offer him sanctuary in the Underground.

"What made you think to call on me, Sarah?"

Sarah sat next to her vigilant husband and sighed. "In the time that I have known you, I have learned one thing about you that never changes. Through all you manipulations, behind all you tricks and games, you have a good heart. You bend over backwards to help the children of this world. You uncover the truth in the hearts of man. I couldn't, or wouldn't, see it when I was a girl. I was only a child then, and you were trying to protect me as much as Toby."

Jareth saw Sarah in a new light in that moment. At last she was a women. She finally understood, that a man's actions were not always what they seemed. She truly understood the lesson that the Labyrinth taught.

"I want to give Harry the book. I want him to become comfortable with the idea before he deals with the trauma of the reality."

When Jareth had agreed, he did not understand the magnitude of his action. He didn't realize the true power within the wizard. He didn't expect to become obsessed within moments of Harry opening the book. The draw was so intense that he could do nothing but watch. Before the sun set on that first day, he heard the call and he laughed.

Apparently he was not the only one enthralled to the point of consumption. As the Goblin King he could not ignore the call of the wished away.

XXX

Harry's eyes snapped up from the book. He could feel the magic crackling around him. It was like nothing he had ever encountered before. He stood quickly, again pulling his wand from his pants leg. There were giggles around him, but as he turned he could never catch more than a shadow from the corner of his eye. Something clicked in his head. He turned toward the window and waited. He started when a hand rested on his shoulder instead.

"Waiting for someone?" The voice was silky and it caused a shiver down Harry's spine.

He turned slowly and met a pair of mismatched eyes. No, that wasn't right. The eyes were the same color, but the pupil of one was far larger, causing it to look darker. He was both menacing and strangely comforting. His magic seemed more natural and real then any other Harry had felt. He was drawn in by it, and he was not afraid.

"You're real." It was an obvious statement, but Harry could think of nothing else to say.

Jareth found it exceedingly amusing. "I am."

Harry looked down and cursed under his breath, realizing what he had said. "So what now?"

Jareth's visage softened. Harry was his, no questions asked and no second chances. At the same time, nothing about this young man's life had been under his control. He bore the look of one tossed by too many seas. "That depends upon you. What's said is said. You have wished yourself into my possession by your own free will. Because of that there is no runner to attempt rescue. However, I can give you thirteen hours to set things in order. You are not a child, I understand that you have responsibilities."

Harry's wand slipped from his fingers and clattered against the wood floor. The reality of his situation was suddenly very heavy upon his mind. "I'll be a goblin…"

He hadn't meant for the man to hear his words, but Jareth's high laughter rung in his ears. "My dear young wizard, not all within the Underground become goblins. Your studies should have taught you that. Have you not learned the legends?"

"I…" Harry didn't know what to say, so he settled for shaking his head no.

"What are they teaching these children? Have even the keepers of magic forgotten the old ways?"

Harry looked up. The King suddenly looked angry and Harry felt the need to defend his people. "I grew up with muggles. I don't know what most wizarding children know. They don't teach folklore at school."

"Folklore! Folklore indeed! I am not a mere fairy tale!"

Harry took a step back and tried to think of a way to clam the man down. "I… I said it badly. I'm sorry. I meant… culture. A ghost teaches the only history class offered at Hogwarts, and he doesn't teach much besides goblin rebellions. He says nothing of real history."

Jareth looked at the cowering wizard and reigned in his temper. Powerful wizard or not, Harry had no way to combat the temper of a Fey. Besides, it was not his fault that wizards were forgetting the old ways. Jareth's mind began to race. There might be more than one opportunity presenting itself here. Not only was he gaining a powerful subject to his rule, one he was highly drawn to, but he was also gaining a direct link to the wizarding world. If the old ways were being forgotten then this young man might be the way to rekindle them.

"So, what say you? Do you want your time to set things in order?"

Harry felt the pressure of the Goblin King's anger lift and raised his head. It was not so much that he had been afraid as it was almost physically painful to try and stand against the weight of the man's power. "Will I be able to return?"

Jareth looked at him with a piercing gaze. "I do not know. I have many powers, but even I cannot know the full measure of the future."

"I beg but a moment." Jareth nodded to the request and watched Harry scurry about the room.

He gathered several things and put them in a box on the bedside table before writing a note.

_Sarah,_

_Something has come up. I don't know when or if I will see you again. I have no one else who really needs telling. Mrs. Marshal will take care of things in London for me. I trust you to take care of my interest in my books. If anyone comes looking for me you can honestly tell them you don't know, but I doubt they will. I can never thank you enough for being such a good friend to me._

_Harry_

Jareth raised an eyebrow at the note. It was short and to the point without giving anything away.

Harry looked around the room several times before bending to retrieve his wand. It was a bit sad that this was what his life was reduced to. He wasn't leaving much behind, and as he looked at Jareth he could only wonder what he might be gaining.

"I think I'm as ready as I'll ever be."

Jareth's face was almost kind and his heart raced when he once again laid his hand on the young wizard's shoulder. In a shower of glitter they were gone.

XXX

This is a good bit shorter then the first chapter, but like I said, I write until it is done. Not nearly as much happened here, but you learned quite a bit about how things work in my little composite world.


	3. AN and a Poem

In Response to Catzi and all my reader/reviewers.

It was never about the reviews. That is not why I wrote. It was a part of who I was. Things change. I wont go into my personal problems, so suffice it to say that my muse died. Dreams feed creativity, and thus when the dreams are gone the creativity starves to death. Things may change someday, but I wouldn't hold out hope.

I will not be putting this or any of my stories up for adoption. If I don't keep them then there is little reason for me to keep trying to revive my muse. I will, however, at least update the status to hiatus.

Since the administrators will delete my story if I don't post something that at least resembles a portion of the story, I give you a poem from my archives. Let it mean what you will for Harry and Jareth.

**This Mask**

The mask behind which I hide  
Bears a great burden  
No one can see me  
The depth of my shame and sorrow

I choose to hide behind it willingly  
No one knows me  
No one can feel my pain  
I did not ask for this fate to be mine

I smile at the world as it mocks me  
I laugh with them  
I cry on my own  
I let joy shadow my true heart

No one cares to look past the mask I show  
No wants to see me  
They don't want to know  
Let them think me a fool rather than lonely

I choose to not to show them my true self  
If they would look  
They would see  
I will bear alone my wretched soul


End file.
